Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist

by Sarah Simpson

  ‘No,’ my words fall out more forcefully than I intend, she raises her overly trimmed penciled eyebrows, ‘no one,’ I reaffirm.

  ‘Oh,’ she pities me, she needn’t. Isn’t this what I wanted all along, back then? ‘You won’t be able to drive for a little while, lovely. But then, you’ll be with us for a little while longer, anyhow. You’ve had a nasty bump to your head, several stitches you’ve needed. Your car turned over, did a complete somersault, it did. So, if you change your mind, shout, okay?’

  ‘I don’t have any family to call. And my friends, they’re back in Edinburgh. I really don’t want to worry them, with them being so far away. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I see, Edinburgh? Is that where you’re from, how lovely. I can’t hear an accent in you?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘My accent faded a long time ago.’

  ‘I see,’ she says again, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t see any of it.

  She fusses around the super tight bed. ‘Are you warm enough?’

  ‘Thank you, yes. Just very tired and my head hurts.’

  ‘You will be, love, you’ve been through an awful trauma. I can fetch you more painkillers, you had morphine in the early hours but I’m guessing it’ll be wearing off by now.’ She places a button connected to a white lead to the side of me. ‘I won’t be long, press this won’t you, if you need anyone.’ She taps my arm, trapped outside the sheet, a tube disappearing somewhere under the surface of my skin. ‘You’re going to be okay, you know. Don’t look so worried, you’ve had a really nasty time of it. But it’s all going to be okay in the end, you’ll be well looked after in here. The paramedics were saying you must have amazing guardian angels.’ As she walks towards the door, I can’t help but think I’ve heard this once before. ‘You’ve been incredibly lucky, Andi, you really have. You could have come out of this much worse than you have.’ The door closes behind her. Silence but for the ticking of the clock and the humming of my connected machinery.

  She calls it, lucky. Lucky.

  Months and months of planning, building jigsaws of her life. Talking Kyle around, which wasn’t hard, I’ve grown extremely fond of him. All the time wondering – how could she have been so brazen? As time went on, I’d have moments when I desperately wanted her to know everything she had done to me. I wanted her to know I was alive. I wanted her to have a conscience in the same way I’ve needed to live with mine all these forbidden years. What was she playing at? She was supposed to be as dead as me, and as my life struggled through the years, hers just moved from strength to strength.

  I suppose I would have died, if my so-called guardian angels hadn’t swept me up against the metal steps at the end of the beach with the violent thrust of the tidal wave. Somehow I clung on to those steps, somehow I found the strength to climb them high enough to cling to a rock ledge behind the steps, crouching low, until I fell into an alcohol infused sleep. Sometime later I was woken by the commotion of what I assumed to be the search and rescue team. But they didn’t suppose I never wanted to be found. I flattened myself against the curve of the rock the other side of the steps, out of sight. Finally, the dark forced them to call off the search. The next day I climbed the steps, I was weak and injured and beyond freezing cold. Leaving the beach behind I made my way along the narrow lanes to the village of Bedruthan, where a kind villager took me in their car and drove me to hospital. No one knew who I was. I was possibly dead, we both were. My face bruised and battered, beyond recognition, shocked, hurt and alone. For that moment of madness, waking in the hospital, no one knowing who I was, I decided to start again, as if I’d no memories, no associations, no past. Everyone could believe I was dead. Initially, I used the name of Natasha until it became too difficult to live without an actual identity and I thought it sufficiently safe to bring back Camilla. After all, who would be looking, no family alive, and after the graduation – no friends. Only freedom.

  Except it wasn’t freedom, it was isolation.

  As the footsteps push open the door to the room, I make one final decision to put the past behind me. ‘Only me,’ she says. In her hand I notice a miniature paper cup, relief runs through me, pain-killing pills. How effective will they be, I wonder, do they only work on muscular tissue, deep pain? I can’t keep running. This is my last chance to put things right. ‘Here we go, you’ll soon be feeling better after you’ve taken these little beauties.’ She reaches for the water behind me, offering it with the small shiny pills. I take them without questioning. ‘There, now, why don’t you try and get some more rest. Sleep is going to be your best friend over the next couple of days.’ She smiles.

  ‘Can you do something for me?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, my lovely, what is it?’

  ‘Can you call the police for me, please.’ I watch as her face alters from its smiling form.

  ‘The police?’

  ‘Please. Tell them, I’m ready to talk to them now. I’m ready to talk.’

  She holds my gaze for a moment. ‘Sure, love, but as far as I know, they’ve not been asking to talk to you but if that’s what you want. I’ll see what I can do.’ She bends down, then straightens to dangle the crescent moon hypnotically before my eyes. ‘This must be yours, love, what a pretty little thing.’

  I smile then turn away. I never did give it back to her. The day Clara found it in the bathroom at the flat, I took it for safe-keeping, I didn’t ever give it back. Why? Did I mean to steal it? Or did I simply want to share the life she lived under the crescent moon? The moon that lay on her pale perfect skin, without love. But with independence? That’s what I wanted – independence. And that’s what I got in shovels full. How long it took me to appreciate it wasn’t independence at all, it was loneliness.

  79

  Dearest Kyle,

  Where do I begin? How do I begin?

  I tried so very hard to be who I am. I never stopped trying, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t trying. My mam and dad told me – I’d always be good for nothing. But that’s why I was so desperate to be different. To get away from the life I was born to. I didn’t like who I was, but when it comes down to it, it’s more – I don’t like who I am. And here is the point, you wouldn’t like who I am.

  That night, the party on the beach, the one I told you of. When the two girls from our friendship group died, drowned. Missing, presumed dead. I lied to you, to everyone. One of the girls who died, didn’t die at all. She survived, managed to crawl up into the cave of one of the giant rocks. Where she remained all night, until the coast was clear of rescue and search people. Then she crept away, slunk up the beach as one of the nosey passers-by, looking on. Shocked and so confused by the events. It wasn’t part of her plan – one of her only friends in the world, taken by the sea. The screams, the power of the waves gripping her conscience in a vice. In the cold light of day, it was all so black and white, splattered across the headlines. They were both missing at sea. Her plan to leave the country, start afresh with her friend’s passport, a letter of employment in Miami, a visa (not to accept the job but to gain access to the States) ruined, dead. It would have allowed her to finally rid herself of her rotten identity. But she didn’t, couldn’t leave the country. Her only friend died. She cared. She lost her will to fight.

  The loss of her friend nearly finished her, the guilt especially. She learned her friend followed her to the beach but was taken by the tides, the papers said. If it hadn’t been for her taking the friend’s documents in the first place, neither of them would have been on the beach at high tide. Being emotionally blackmailed. Clara. Clara took her back to the beach, the girl from Sennen Cove, she was blackmailing her, told her to leave Andi alone, she knew she’d stolen Andi’s documents. Andi returned to the beach to find them both the papers said, and the rest is history.

  Sometime on she met a man who she thought could ensure her belonging, her status, who loved her for who she was. Who he thought she was. That man was you. And I’m sure you’ve guessed by now where this is going, she was – me.
You see, I am not who you think I am. You are not married to me, you are married to Andi Johnson. Our marriage is void. I don’t have any qualifications, they don’t belong to me, my career is void. Nothing in my life, nothing you think you know about me is real or true. Other than, of course, my love for you and our children. I stole my dead best friend’s identity, to hide from who I am. But the loss, the guilt of what I did has never stopped haunting me. If it wasn’t for me, Andi would still be alive. So many lies, and in the end I trapped myself.

  It’s too small, I know but I am sincerely sorry for who I am. You will never be able to truly appreciate just how much I have always wished, I wasn’t. I can’t live with myself, Kyle.

  I love you,

  Camilla X

  P.S.

  My stalker is our cleaner, Mags. She knows everything. She even knows that Andriana Johnson has a prominent scar on her left shin, where she poured her mother’s scalding boiled water down herself, whilst they played one day as childhood friends here in Cornwall. Good friends too, until it all blew up – Mags’ mother had had an affair with Andi’s father. So, they were in fact, half sisters, neither of them knew. When it all came out, Andi’s family turned their backs, Mags and her mother were cast aside with nothing. Rebuked. I met Andi’s father a couple of times, I always thought there was something callous about him. When Mags first came to work for us, she believed me to be Andi, thought I’d faked my own death, so she took the opportunity to get close to decide how best to avenge. Blackmail always in mind. But little discrepancies she found in conversation with me, the missing scar, my behaviour, all created doubts. Then, she found the stolen documents I’d clumsily hidden under our bed. She came here today, for money, Kyle, to keep quiet about my stolen identity. Ironically, she was genuinely upset when I confirmed – Andi is dead.

  P.P.S.

  Please show the children to always follow their honest hearts. My head stopped me from seeing, feeling. Living. Many years ago, I was offered everything my heart desired but I couldn’t see it. Everything could have been so different. Old news now.

  On the bathroom side is the necklace you gave me when Dotty was born, to replace the one I lost. It needs repairing but then, if you can give it to her.

  Tell her, please – it’s something for her to hold on to.

  Epilogue

  Cornwall 2017, one week later

  Andi

  I park up to wander roughly in the same footsteps we took together, Camilla. Arm in arm all those years ago. You – young, vibrant and full of wonder and me in absolute awe of you. Why, oh why, were we never honest with each other? I told you, didn’t I, how I’ve always loved this place since a young child, something so surreal and serene about it. You thought I was odd, there’s no shops, you said, but deep down you loved it too, didn’t you? Passing the under bellies of sleeping yachts on stilts along the dry dock, a shiver runs down my spine, I still find them oddly eerie, you know. I’ve not been back since our day here, Camilla, I never had the chance. Unfolding my arms from around me, I scratch at the dressing across my forehead, my skin clammy, my heart rate way higher than it should be. Feeling a little sick.

  So much to come to terms with in the last few weeks, not to mention dealing with the police. We both broke the law in several ways, I’m still waiting to hear the outcome, I had to tell them, Camilla – my passport, my ID, my qualifications, you took everything I was, otherwise – I’ll never be able to be who I really am. I mean, I took your identity too, but only really for administrative, health matters. I’ve not needed a passport, always too afraid to travel. Forever looking over my shoulder. So sad, no one in Edinburgh noticed, cared that you were missing. You really didn’t have anyone. I told the police we’d spoken, before you left us, that we were simply two young girls, both scared of the life they faced for different reasons but both with the same motivation, to do what we did. Different backgrounds, the same dreams. Independence, freedom, choices. Happiness. Neither of us found it. God, how I wish I’d contacted you when I first found out you were still as alive as me. Too consumed with hate and bitterness, believing this had been your plan all along, but it wasn’t was it? You did care about me too. You were thrown into a situation the same as I was, forced to make rash decisions, naïve and confused.

  Last week, I met with Kyle, felt I owed him an explanation, back then in the heat of the moment I felt so justified in my course of action, to hunt him down, to get to you. But in the last week, I’ve felt nothing but shame, poor Kyle, he didn’t deserve any of this. I read your letter to him, Camilla, and cried, a lot. For the both of us. Your words also told me you found out about Elliott too, didn’t you, though I didn’t let this on to Kyle, wishing you’d followed your heart, I read between the lines. God, things could have been so different, if only he’d… if only you’d… if only I’d… We were so close but so dishonest, all of us. Then, poor Jo, no one was there for her in the end, she believed us dead, the inquest said our deaths had pushed her over the edge. Camilla – have you lived with this guilt too, as I have? I’ve no idea what happened to Clara, I thought about contacting her but our relationship became unhealthy. I can see this now. Hindsight. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else but I can’t help feeling she had a hand in all this, she led us both to the beach, one way or another. I don’t think she ever recovered from the death of her sister, loss affects us all in different ways my therapist said. Clara…? I think you may have been right about her, Camilla, you never liked her did you?

  Kyle. You chose well, I like him. For hours he and I chatted, me relaying tales about you, the real Camilla, his Andi. If only… I know he would have loved you, just as I did, as Elliott did, for being you. It was a cathartic few hours for us both, we separated with some peace of mind – you never intended for me to die, you only wanted a new life, a fresh start. Your therapist, Eve, believes it was deeming yourself responsible for my death, that sadly took the very life you once so craved from you. This nearly broke me all over again, if only… Neither of us recognised – we were both searching for the same in the end, we both had the answers there right in front of us. Blinded by our emotions, then ripped apart by the consequences of our decisions. My parents, I will never forgive the pain I caused. Their care I took as suffocation, the sealed cage I felt trapped in was simply their support, the very care and support you yearned for, wasn’t it?

  Now, I push the door open to the café underneath the yacht club, nothing has changed too much, part of me expected to see you sat, slightly on edge, taking in your surroundings. I order myself tea then wander to the table overlooking the marina. If it’s okay with you, Camilla, I’d like to think I can stay friends with Kyle, if only to get to know your children, it’s all a little too soon at the moment, but in time, hopefully… A family friend, Carol, is helping him out until he works out how best to relocate his work from London to Cornwall. I gave Kyle your necklace to pass on to Dotty, I’m so sorry, Camilla. I was so desperate to own a part of you, as much as you were of me.

  I’m looking on as an old fishing boat is heaved from the water by crane, wondering about the tales she could tell, when I feel the hand on my shoulder. My heartrate hastens, the words I planned earlier, scarper.

  ‘Seems like only yesterday, doesn’t it?’ he says to my back.

  Nodding, I begin to turn, ‘I was just thinking the same.’ I stand to face him, peering up to meet his aged face, a rogue tear slithering down my cheek, from his pocket he pulls a handkerchief and offers it to me.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re really here,’ I tell him.

  ‘I never stopped hoping,’ he says, pulling me into broad shoulders, the years, the pain, the fear temporarily slips my guard. I’m sorry, will never suffice. ‘I used to love this place,’ he says.

  Gently, I ease away from him. ‘I can’t believe you’ve an American twang.’ I laugh. Fine lines crease around his eyes with his smile. How could I have done this to him, to all of them? To me? When I saw Elliott with his family, then you, Camilla w
ith your new family, all I ever felt was a hungry ache in the pit of my stomach. So many years of unnecessary loneliness.

  ‘I’ve got to hand it to you,’ he says, ‘even I never believed you to be as pig-headed as you’ve proven.’

  ‘Is that another way of saying unbelievably stupid?’ I ask.

  ‘If I were to ask you to come back with me? For a few weeks until you’re feeling stronger, you’re not going to disappear on me again are you?’

  I laugh off his comment, appreciating it wasn’t meant in jest. ‘Leo,’ I sigh out. It feels so good simply to speak his name. ‘We’ve so much to talk about. About matters you don’t know of and need to.’ I turn slightly away. ‘Coffee?’ I ask.

  Moments later, we’re sat in a booth, tucked away up the corner. I relay my side of our story as best I can. I talk about you, Camilla, and also, Mags, your cleaner, my old friend, the half sister of me and Leo.

  ‘Jesus.’ Leo clasps his jaw with both hands. ‘I never put two and two together, our father, the woman from the bakery, Mum’s friend. I mean, I knew more than you, that he’d had some kind of fling. The rows, the tears, how could I not? But, never… a child? And he knew? Did Mum know?’

  ‘He knew, yes, not certain about Mum. I’m guessing so because me and Mags suddenly stopped seeing each other, we were only eight or nine, I didn’t really question it, then I suppose I just moved on. But don’t you remember, the girl, who worked here,’ I gesture around the room. ‘You became friendly with her, offered her free sailing lessons in your holidays from uni, Mum and Dad found out, and were both insistent you stopped right away for no apparent reason? I didn’t recognise her back then, several years on, but…’